martes, 24 de septiembre de 2013

Shanna
was old, malevolent and sure in her own immortality. Centuries passed her
quietly by as she schemed, moving towards her ultimate goal of godhood. From
the humble an crowded beginnings of her birthing pool, she killed, maimed and
eaten her way to the top. These Taartuns were but another example of an
inferior and gullible race to be used up an thrown away. It irked that this
insufferable dwarf stood in her way to greatness, with all the hallmarks of
fulfilling a prophecy that she herself had invented. It never once entered her
mind that she had also been used by one greater than herself and it was with
this self-serving arrogance that she faced Cornelius.

He
was enjoying himself. The release from pretence and the imminent possibility of
really damaging the Old Hag buoyed him. Not since his little jaunt in the Forked Tongue on Luther, so long ago, had
he truly enjoyed himself so much and the prospect for mayhem in front of him
bode well for a delightful afternoon. Cornelius forgot about his mission, the
raging demon ripping itself clear of the Tower and the imminent destruction of
this world. Shanna was his and he would take payment for all his hurt and
frustration from her scaly green hide. He actually laughed as he let go of the
left handle and whipped the wire forward, aiming for the hand holding the
staff. At the last minute he stopped, causing the wire to shudder and loop sideways,
scoring a burning red line across Shanna’s flesh where it touched in passing.
His power anchored him in place as he flicked the weapon backwards, grinning at
Shanna’s screams and curses.

Shanna
tried to raise her staff and concentrate on her enemy, but it burned. Each
little touch of the wire sent pain shooting throughout her body and she took
her first step back. Cornelius followed, dancing in mid-air, the wire twirling
round his body glaring white-hot as power shimmered of it in waves. Shanna
stepped further away, her gaze fixed wholly on the maddening figure, her breath
hissing in and out. Behind her rock cracked and tore, but she ignored it.

Something
blurred past her vision and for a moment she thought Cornelius had again
struck, but his answering grunt robbed her of that misconception. Glancing up,
Shanna saw a large rock cleaved in half by the spinning wire and now looked
behind her. A huge hand ripped at the earth, flinging rock pieces haphazardly
into the air. A chance missile had distracted Cornelius. She took her
opportunity and ran.

“Where
do you think you are going?” drawled a lazy voice, in her mind. She recognized
Viker’s tones but could not see him. Her flight from that battle had brought
her here first, she could not let him receive her reward. Spinning she looked
for her enemies, but only saw a hysterical Cornelius waltzing in her direction.
Shanna ducked beneath a large clawed hand and grunted in resignation. The
battle would have to be fought here. She struck her staff into the rent earth
and harsh syllables poured from her misshapen mouth.

*

It was hungry…and there was
so much food nearby. The earth itself revolted against the creature grasping at
its enormous ankles, clawing at its mighty wings and ignoring its imperious
demands. Fold Space called yet it was bound to this earthly plane, limited by an
almost tantalising near-existence. Puny power raged around it but it needed
meat.

Stopping for a moment it
raised a huge face upwards and gulped in a gigantic breath. The taste of an
approaching enemy stung it, the subtle flavours of Fold Space told the creature
that soon it would face another of its kind and it must feed. A hint of old
memory surfaced and it ceased struggling, plunging its freed hand deep into the
earth. Old flesh was not the same yet it would do. It crammed the remains of
Shan’s minions into its maw, ignoring the flesh-rotting disease that infected
them and flexed its wings…

jueves, 12 de septiembre de 2013

Cornelius was at a full run, yet horses and men began to overtake him,. That would not do. He gathered his energy within, his tatoos writhing in response and started to release his power...

"No you will not, Sirrah," boomed a deep voice, and Cornelius felt himself lifted up by the back of his robe.

The earth sped by, his feet windmilling with little dignity as he was hauled up onto the back of the warhorse, Sir Frederic dumped him unceremoniusly down and sped back up. Butt wanted to say something, but fought instead to control the energy coursing through him. It was a close thing.

"There are enough demons for my men to focus on," said Sir Frederic pompously, "without you distracting them."

"Don't be so anal," mumbled Cornelius, setting fire to a nearby bush, "there'll be more than enough to keep them busy in just a short while..."

He ignored the Knight and concentrated on the Tower. One wing was now free and stretched out across the plain. The other was still stuck within the crumbling rock, but would not stay that way for long. A gout of green flame arced skwards, followed by a titanic roar as the creature turned to survey the ants racing towards it. This would not be pretty.

"Put me down," said Cornelius quietly, yet the Knight ignored him.

With an agility ill-becoming his reputation, Cornelius sprang to his feet, balancing on the shoulders of the animal galloping towards its own death. There was a muffled grunt as he leapt upwards, somersaulting away from Sir Frederic as he tried to pull up sharply. Now was not the time for chastisement and Cornelius called again on the energy bubbling below the surface. It gleefully responded and he rose high in the air as he stretched out his hands.

"Explain this to your narrow-minded followers" he laughed as he hurtled forwards.

Sir Frederic watched his friend race towards the Tower, and for once ignored the cries of herecy around him. The idiot was going to take on the monster by himself...and that just would not do.

Flames boiled from Cornelius' hands as he closed upon the structure, melting rock and causing his enemy to scream in frustration. He circled the creature twice, narrowly avoiding a sweep of its gigantic wing and snapping fangs before he was satisfied.

"Take on the Chosen One, would you?" he sneered, alighting gently on the rock-strewn ground before the Tower, "well it's time to reap your ultimate reward."

Once again gathered his power, his clothes smoking with the energy called upon. Cornelis smiled at the thought of what Kam would say if they burned away revealing him in all his glory, yet he gritted his teeth and continued. He was ready...

"No-o-o," hissed a voice beside him, and Cornelius was flung sideways as what felt like a metal bar slammed into his side, Shanna announcing her presence with the act.

"Think that you will thwart me now, worm?" she screamed strangely, garbling the words as her tongue darted in and out of her now prominent snout.

"You really shouldn't have done that," said Cornelius calmly, as he rose to his feet, "It's not lady-like..." and then he grinned evilly.

Shanna watched as he pulled a rusty length of wire from his belt, taking hold of what appeared to be wooden handles at each end.

"And what," she laughed derisively, "do you think you are going to achieve with that?"

"Bliss..." replied Cornelius as he sprang, whipping one handle free and filling the weapon with power.

martes, 20 de agosto de 2013

The
roar of engines wrenched Shan’s attention away from the enthralling sight of
his erstwhile Master’s imminent demise. The various Shuttles and Attack Boats
descended rapidly, disgorging the check-suited humans and he watched intently
as an old woman descended from an open ramp, her young aide holding her
upright. The aide was beautiful and Shan felt the stirrings of his perverted
lust as he gazed upon her. There was something about the old woman though,
something that he should remember…

A
venomous green light speared from the old woman’s hand, searing his rotten
flesh and driving him to his knees. Raw energy melted into him, boiling what
was left of his blood in indescribable agony.

“Now,
do you remember…?”

A
voice filled with hate and spite ripped and tore at his mind, and he suddenly
knew who she was, and despite his overwhelming pain he still had time for fear.

She
raised her staff on high, all pretence of weakness disappearing. Clari recoiled
in horror as the Witch Woman began to transform, her wrinkled body filling and
lengthening. Scales were visible, and her snout emerged with a forked tongue
flicking free to taste the air.

“S-s-s-cum-m-m-m,”
she hissed and thrust the staff forward, its tip glowing red with heat.

“I
think not,” said a cheerful voice, and Clari looked on a beautiful winged God,
glowing with purity and light, “this one is mine now.”

Shanna
changed her attention to Viker as he dropped in front of the steaming husk of
his minon. He was not alone, as other winged monsters surrounded him. As the
beam struck, Clari’s vision cleared and she saw Viker for who he truly was and
she screamed at the broken wings and blood-smeared face.

Viker
flicked a last palm and the beam sped away, striking a group of his followers
and incinerating them where they stood.

“Not
so ea-s-s-y? Lo-s-s-t your power?” cackled the evil old woman.

“Now…Ngulu,”
whispered Viker as he sank to his knees.

Powerful
arms wrapped around the witch and began to squeeze, and this apparition was the
final straw which drove Clari screaming towards the nearby heights. She did not
stop running until she reached the lines of Taartuns who watched in horror as
the battle unfolded below them, where she collapsed in front of the diminutive
Chosen One.

Her
humiliation was complete, as he ignored her and the crackles of released energy
as Shanna fought back. Instead he stared at the broken-topped Tower, grim-faced
and implacable.

There
was an almighty cracking sound and the top third of the Tower spilt way,
crashing to the ground in a mix of dust and rubble. Clari felt the deep booming
tone of a bell deep within her chest and opened her mouth to ask and question
but Cornelius Butt had gone, racing as fast as his legs could carry him down
towards the plain below. With a roar the others drew their weapons and
followed, an armoured Knight in the lead, leaving a bewildered Clari and her loyal retainers
beside the craft she had sent to capture the horrible little man.

“The
Chosen One is he?” sneered Clari rising to her feet with what little dignity
she could muster. “It didn’t take him long to run away…”

She
squeaked as strong arms gripped her shoulders and turned her forcibly to watch
Cornelius and his men.

“They
go to their deaths, you stupid girl,” growled a voice she recognised, as
Warchief MacEdoon at last let her go and she saw a great pair of wings pushing
forth from the ruins of the Tower. Dark smoke boiled upwards as whatever was
inside tried to burst free.

“And
you?” she sneered, “What does a mighty Warchief like you do?”

A
weathered face grinned back at her as MacEdoon dragged his sword free of its
scabbard, “Why follow of course…”

sábado, 10 de agosto de 2013

Kam’s
level of excitement rose in conjunction with the lowering of the shuttle’s ramp
and at one point Cornelius had to physically restrain him from rushing forward
to welcome his brothers. The turret mounted auto-cannons which swivelled to
cover him and the onrushing Sir Frederic and his men gave him pause for
thought.

“Wait!”
he growled as the ramp came to a halt and a group of Taartun warriors rushed
out to secure the area.

Deliberately,
Cornelius turned his back on the newcomers and raised his arms to try and slow
down the enthusiastic Knight. With a spray of dirt and stone Sir Frederic
appeared, narrowly missing the still hopping Kam as he hauled his mount to a
halt.

“Well
met, Cornelius,” said Frederic politely, as he raised his visor, “how are you
feeling?”

Cornelius
grinned as he saw the muzzle of Burns’ rifle trained on him, “Just fine Freddy,
although Kam here seems to have been struck down with a severe case of Restless
Legs Syndrome.”

miércoles, 7 de agosto de 2013

“Expected
visitors,” commented Cornelius, squinting as he tried to concentrate on the
roiling mass of battle below him, “you know, Kam, I don’t think that everyone
will be happy with the new arrivals.”

“Are
we happy?” queried Kam, doubt tinging his voice.

“Oh,
we’re always happy, Kam,” replied Cornelius, “life is full of surprises for
those who welcome them.”

“But
who are these new people?” Kam sounded troubled, as though it was beyond him
how this could be good news.

“Taartuns,”
replied Cornelius, sitting back down and stretching out his legs.

“Our
people then,” said Kam, “good, we could do with some help.”

“Hmm,” agreed Cornelius absently, “although I am not so sure how much of our
people there are amongst them.”

“The
Taartuns are our people,” insisted Kam.

“Allegedly,”
said Cornelius, smiling as he felt the ground beneath him begin to tremble,
“but as usual, they aren’t the only ones rushing to join the party.”

Kam
turned as he too felt the approaching thunder. Behind him, the sun glinted off
metal and a murmur of noise reached his ears.

“That
was quick,” he commented, “they must have landed further away and are hurrying
to join us.”

“Oh,”
said Cornelius, “those aren’t the Taartuns, but I would at least classify them
as friends.”

“What?”
queried Kam, now even more confused.

“Sir
Frederic approaches,” said Cornelius, “and it seems as though he has found some
friends.”

*

“There,”
called Sir Frederic, above the noise of drumming hooves, “I can see Cornelius.”

“Yeah,”
grunted Burns, clinging on for dear life, “and it seems as though Kam stayed
with him. That must be a good sign.”

Sir
Frederic signalled his troops to aim for the two small figures and they wheeled
to obey him. He was happy with the disciplined force which had joined him. His
cousin had protested, as usual, but Sir Frederic’s call for volunteers had been
readily answered. Their reaction to
Cornelius would need managing, but the greater threat of the demons and their
followers would concentrate them on their true mission. The evidence of the
village’s destruction and the atrocities committed there left little for
dispute as to who they should be fighting. Now, if only Cornelius could restrain
himself from displays of magic, they just might stand a chance.

“Watch
out!” shouted Burns, as the first of the descending craft roared overhead,
startling some of the mounts.

Even
though he knew they were not about to attack, Sir Frederic ducked as the
snub-winged craft rocketed overhead. Bolts of energy flew upwards from beyond
the ridge and answering auto-cannons began to fire. He spurred his recalcitrant
mount onwards, the quicker they joined the fight, the less time his men had to
contemplate demons and magic.

“Sir
Frederic!”

Burns
shout and pointing finger drew his attention to the two lone figures and the
craft which began to descend directly over them.

“To
Battle!” he roared, his men following readily behind. He just hoped they would
arrive in time.

jueves, 18 de julio de 2013

“Are
you sure this is the place, old woman?” asked Clari in disbelief.

The
planet below them appeared little different from others they had visited,
searching for the annoying little man. Shanna grinned a gap-toothed smile at
her supposed relative and nodded, as she felt the thrill of power extinguished
on their arrival. It was not Cornelius but something less pure, if Cornelius
could ever have been called such a thing. There was a dirty feel to the
transmitted energy which drew her like a moth to a flame, it seemed as though
the dwarf had succeeded in his catalytic assignment.

“Ships
detected,” shouted their Captain, as they closed range, “ with energy releases
on the surface!”

“Now
do you doubt me?” sneered Shanna as she hobbled towards the holo-screen by the
Captain’s chair.

Clari
reeled back as though she had been struck. It was not so much the words, nor
the inherent disdain. No, it was the pulsing throat muscles and the nictitious
membrane which reminded her that this Witch Woman was someone to respect.

“Will
the Prophecy be fulfilled?” Clari asked humbly.

“Oh,
that it will,” replied Shanna gleefully, and then in a voice only she could
hear, “but which one my pretty? That is the real question.”

Clari
shivered as Shanna’s evil cackle rang across the bridge.

“”Launch
the boats,” snarled Shanna, all signs of age disappearing from her voice, “we
have a world to win and destiny before us!”

The
cheering of her Clansmen followed Clari as she left the Bridge. Quickly she
found her men.

“Take
our people on one of the boats. Make sure you find the thrice-damned Chosen One
and bring him to me.”

They
saluted and left at a run. Clari’s volatility was well known and no-one wanted
to cross her. The only doubt was why she wanted to be the one to find the
Chosen One and what she wanted with him. It was in neither of their places to
ask or even know the answer to such a question. The Chosen One would know, and
that was sure in their minds. Tradition and legend said it was so. The fact
that neither they, or the rest of Clari’s people, had ever set eyes on
Cornelius Butt before probably went a long way to explaining their blind faith.
Reality would have a surprise from them before the day was over.

martes, 16 de julio de 2013

Ngulu
the Broken revelled in despair and destruction, yet there were reasons to worry
in the way that his demons failed to break through the strange winged and
mutated forces they faced. No easy victory was in sight and the recent arrival
of the small force from the Tower bolstered the beleaguered forces he faced.
Something had changed.

Writhing
forms on the battlefield drew his attention. Of the two obvious leaders, one
stayed well back drawing a number of the winged soldiers back into a protective
cordon. The other marched forward, stopping to examine and touch the mutilated
corpses on the field, including those demons unlucky enough to fall in battle.
What was he doing?

The
figure was closer now; a strange mist trailed behind him and, as the wind
direction changed, the stench of rotting corpses and putrefying flesh became
stronger. Ngulu watched as the man stopped, waiting for what the demon knew
not, and his anger at the figure’s effrontery drove him forward, smashing aside
his minions. It was then he noticed that he could no longer see the man as
corpses reanimated, interposing themselves between their new master and the
rampaging demons.

Shan
loved the powers he had been granted; an army was never far behind when his
touch could create new life. He giggled at the thought; life was a rather poor
way to describe the things following him. Even the residual power of the demons
was not immune to his unhealthy touch and perhaps, just perhaps, these new
troops of his could turn the table even on Viker.

“Such
an obvious minion…” crooned Viker’s voice in his head and Shan screamed in pain
as raw power blasted into him. Through his tears he saw Viker rise above the
battlefield, black wings spread wide and lambent power radiating out from his
eyes.

“You
are but a vessel,” he continued conversationally, “and that is something you
should never forget. Cease your tending of the wounded, I wish to speak with
the demon’s leader.”

Shan
could do little but obey, as pain wrenched his muscles once more into
uncontrollable spasms. Even his creatures reacted, moaning and squealing in his
transmitted agony.

Viker
passed him by, floating to a gentle halt into the winged master of the demon
hoard. Anger rippled out from the frothing monster as it still thrust others
aside in its anxiety to reach him.

“Oh,
dear,” he laughed, “such eagerness should be rewarded…”

His
arms raised high, he began to gather in his power, reaching out to touch the
very essence of Fold Space in his greed. Ngulu stopped, mouth open in awe as
the figure before him began to glow. His weapon tip dropped to the floor,
partially forgotten as his better readied himself for to dispense his own form
of justice.

At
what seemed the last moment, the brilliance of Viker’s power faded, releasing
Ngulu who raised his stolen sword in a roar of rage and leaped forward, intent
only on the destruction of the timorous individual before him. He too felt the
fabric of space rip, yet his anger was far too strong to worry about details.
Ngulu the Broken would kill; the consequences of his actions he would deal with
later.